


not even a god to pass judgement on me

by thraume (ethia)



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: 2nd person POV, Dark, F/M, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 00:49:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12494684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethia/pseuds/thraume
Summary: Gabriel Lorca hasn't gone insane. He's put himself back together, become who they need him to be. It's not his fault the pieces won't quite fit anymore.A reflection onLethe.M rating is for heavy content, not the shippy stuff.





	not even a god to pass judgement on me

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I don't own a thing in here.
> 
> Title from _Get What You Give_ by Mike Flannery.
> 
> I couldn't bring myself to step into Lorca's head again. Not so soon after _Lethe_. But then I literally couldn't stop thinking about it. I couldn't not do this.
> 
> Mentions of torture, death, and highly questionable sanity.

It's like a memory from far away, washed out and pale, frayed and hazy at the edges.

Home.

Safe and happy.

The music, sultry and slow; the malt, warm gold on your tongue, a mellow burn that unfurls in your chest, a hush in its wake, an inkling of peace.

“I still think about the bottle we killed that night we went to see the Perseids meteor shower.”

Kat, with that warmth in her eyes, a softness you yearn for, even now.

“You don't remember?”

You hang on to the conversation by sheer force of will, a habit you've drilled into yourself until it came as natural as breathing.

The malt at war with the panic that dips and rises like a float lost at sea, tossed and jolted by the roiling waves.

“No, I was just... thinking how long ago it seems.”

She's never been more dangerous.

The ground you tread demands a careful course; she's testing you, every step of the way, and you can't let her in, can't let her peer past the surface you need her to see.

“I don't think you've been the same since the _Buran_.”

She's right, of course.

_We choose our own pain. Mine helps me remember._

The Klingons caught you from behind, alone, unawares, your back undefended, wide open for attack.

You didn't even see them coming.

And now you're dying, almost dying. But they won't let you. Time and again, they won't let you.

Bared teeth, menacing hisses, blades honed to exquisite sharpness. Sowing terror, keeping you from getting a sense of what they _want_.

In the end, you don't need to. They make you understand with blood and pain, right here, in the very heart of your own ship.

Not a chance of protecting yourself.

But you can still protect _them_. You must.

_Not my crew. Not on my watch._

It's a terrible thought, but it keeps you alive, if only by a thread.

It makes you escape, a single purpose like a flare in your mind.

You move through your ship like a wraith, a shape unseen in the shadows.

Around you, the darkness is bleeding.

You blink, anchor yourself to the calm in Katrina's eyes, what little light there is reflected back at you with so much care.

She probably has no idea how cruel she is.

“How do you feel about that?”

There simply is no telling. It's a place you don't go, not ever. Simple as that.

Except sometimes, you do. Because you can't help it.

L'Rell, it turns out, is a deft hand at torture, and light her blade of choice.

There isn't a thing she can do to your eyes that the _Buran_ hasn't already done, a thousand times over.

Pain comes riding on a wave of brightness, a flame of purest white that burns through you, incandescent, until you're blind with it, adrift in a sea of agonizing light.

Every shape, every contour, bleeding white.

Time no longer moves, your heartbeat a sick and tiresome loop in your chest.

L'Rell isn't asking too many questions. Stuck on repeat, what is your mission, where is your ship, what is your mission, where what what--

What is your mission. Your mission.

A face swims into focus; dark skin, earnest eyes. A well of potential. You can't blink, can't move, but you grab onto it, with everything that you have left. It doesn't seem all that much. But still enough.

"And what mission is that, sir?" Michael asks, not an ounce of trust, no sign at all of comprehension. Not yet. You'll make her see. You know you can.

She lifts her hand to run her fingers through your hair, along your cheek, a touch so gentle it takes your breath, your words away.

_To send everyone back home. Safe and happy._

The _Buran_ burns bright like a star in the sky, a dying sun that can't ever go down. You can't look away, can't close your eyes. She brands herself into you, a livid scar that runs across the entire length of your mind, your heart, your sorry soul.

Not safe. Not happy. Not home. Not ever.

The lamps burn out with a high-pitched ping, like the crack of a whip, zing, zing, _zing_. L'Rell is cursing, a guttural sound that makes your hackles rise in fearful instinct. Or maybe that's laughter; what difference does it make.

There must be darkness now, somewhere beyond the endless plains of white that have swallowed you whole. The small room thick with it, leaving both of you blind.

And you know that somewhere in the shadows that you can no longer see, War in his cloak of blood and terror is baring his teeth.

Blink.

Breathe.

Blink, and Katrina is searching you, feeling you up for cracks that if anyone can find, it's her.

Only one way out.

You're clumsy about it, heavy-handed and blunt, but memory serves, and Katrina seems hopeful to find her old friend in her arms.

And so, perhaps, are you.

//

They catch you from behind, alone, unawares, your back undefended, wide open for attack.

But this time, you come prepared, phaser in hand, ready to fight--

The fear in Katrina's eyes is nothing compared to your own, a pit of panic that sucks you in, then spits you out, all covers blown.

You pick up the pieces, a single purpose like a flare in your mind.

Without _Discovery_ , there's nothing.

//

_You gotta make decisions in a second, sometimes less._

The Klingons can't be trusted, the peace talks nothing but a ruse, a flimsy excuse for a trap. Your gut churns with the knowledge, it's so easy to see if you just know how to look at things.

Katrina doesn't.

If there's a chance for peace she will go, in Sarek's stead, and gladly so. Not so much as a single word of persuasion needed.

You don't want this.

All you want is to win the war.

Safe and happy.

Guilt is a livid scar across your sorry soul.

But without _Discovery_ , there is nothing.

//

“I'm grateful, to serve under a captain like you.”

She doesn't know it, but she's wielding a knife, and its blade cuts you deeply, steel on marrow.

Captain, for now.

At the most costly price.

You need her so much that it's staggering you; her respect, her support, her unique way of looking at things.

Much the same as you.

You're alike, her and you.

Shouldering too much guilt for one life to hold.

Shouldering it, so that others won't have to.

If anyone can understand, if anyone can forgive, it's her.

You can't lose her any more than you can give up your ship.

Without them, there's nothing.

Just the shadows, lurking, at the edge of your vision.

Not safe.

Not home.

Not ever.


End file.
